Monthly Archive

Today’s guest post comes from Kasia of Good Finking, a new mother to a beautiful little boy!

The question that you should never, ever ask

As Molly is off having new little moments with her baby boy, I thought I’d share with you a little moment of my own which just so happens to be pregnancy related (because c’mon admit it, you can’t get enough of these preggo stories).

I recently gave birth to my own bouncing baby boy but the day I found out I was pregnant still feels like yesterday. I was thrilled and shocked and scared and million other things but once those died down, I was… Hmm, I don’t know if there’s a word for what I was. How do you explain that feeling you get when you have a secret so ginormous that it makes you feel like your rib cage is filled with helium and is going to lift you off the ground and it’s all you can think about so you’re totally freaked out you’re going to spill it by accident and anyway, can’t people read it all over your face… but you can’t tell anyone? Yeah, that.

Well I walked around feeling that for fourteen whole weeks which is an ETERNITY when you’re feeling that feeling. We told our families halfway through that period but wanted to wait a bit longer before telling everyone else and needless to say, it almost killed me.

Whoops, did I say fourteen weeks? Well with some people it was shorter, but not by choice. Because guess what? They asked the question you should never, ever, EVER ask:

Are you pregnant?

I know, it seems so harmless, right? I mean, isn’t that a happy, joyous thing to ask someone who you know has been married for awhile and you know loves and wants kids and ha ha, isn’t it fun to tease them a bit about it and watch them squirm?

Yeah, I used to think so too… that is, until I was the one in the hot seat. And the day my (male) coworker* poked me in the paunch and said, “Whoa Kasia, you’re getting a little soft there, are you knocked up?” was the day I realized that the time to ask whether someone is pregnant or not is NEVER. I mean, consider the scenarios:

1. Yes, she’s pregnant but she’s not ready to tell you yet. I can’t tell you how excruciatingly uncomfortable it is to have to make up crappy lies to explain why no thanks, you’ll pass on the wine tonight (when everyone clearly knows you’re a lush), especially when you suck at lying. (By the way, the one that worked best was: “No thanks, I’m on antibiotics.” You’re welcome.) And what’s more, no one likes it when you rain on their parade. Maybe they have certain plans for how they want to tell everyone. Be a good friend – don’t ruin it for them!

2. No, she’s not pregnant and not trying and now she feels fat and you look like a dumbass. This is the classic one we all know about and hope never happens to us – on either side of the scale. No explanation needed.Ouch. I never really thought about this one until I had some friends who were going through this oh-so-painful experience and, well, yeah. It’s pretty terrible. They might smile and say, “Oh, not yet!” and seem fine about it but let me tell you, chances are high that the moment they get into the sanctity of their parked car, their hurt will overflow into tears. (My heart goes out to you if you’ve ever been in this situation.) Ok so maybe you’re clueless but maybe you’re just asking if she’s pregnant as an icebreaker because you really want to talk about babies but don’t know how to initiate the conversation. Either way, don’t do it!!! We all know women are touchy about their looks but pregnant women? Pregnant women are insanely sensitive and usually neurotic too and oh yeah, there’s that whole hormonal rollercoaster thing. Be kind and if you’re not 100% sure, keep your trap shut. If she is pregnant, I guarantee you it will make its way into the conversation somehow. Well, if it’s her first baby, anyhow. (It’s almost impossible to not talk about it.)

3. No, she’s not pregnant but is trying and thanks a lot for reminding her that she’s not pregnant yet.

4. Yes, she’s pregnant and quite far along thankyouverymuch and are you casting doubt on the fact her belly looks like there’s a baby inside instead of a lot of Big Macs?

5. I’m sure there’s another scenario that I can’t think of right now but um, yeah, it’s bad too so don’t do it.

See? I told you. It’s never a good situation.

Having that said all that, when you see a woman (like Molly) who’s very clearly glowing and happy and hiding a super-sized beachball under her belly and debating the merits of a Diaper Genie in the aisle of Babies R Us, by all means yes – DO take a moment to smile at her or even congratulate her and ask her how it’s going. Growing a baby is a beautiful, wonderful thing and when you’re doing it, nothing feels more lovely than being acknowledged.

Just make sure your feet are firmly planted on the ground and nowhere near your mouth.

*By the way, that coworker who poked me in the gut is actually not a jerk. No, really, I swear. We have a crazy goofy brother-sister relationship so he thought he was just being funny. Not that that makes it okay – the day it happened I was mortified. But now that story is one of our favorites so thanks for your offers to hunt him down and pull out all his fingernails one by one but it’s not necessary. (This time.)

We’re seven days from TLB’s due date and you know what? I’m pretty sure he’s going to stay in there for the long haul. I guess I made things nice and cozy for him! The best news is that on Tuesday, exactly 14 days from when he took residence on my sciatic nerve…he MOVED. Probably about 90% off of it so I can walk again. WALK. I swear, it was like watching a child take their first steps the minute I realized I could move from the kitchen to the living room without grabbing onto the wall for support.

Wait. I mean, “walk” is still a relative term, because it’s really a waddle due to how low he is in my pelvis right now, but it’s a 90% pain-free waddle.

Can I get a HIGH FIVE?!

So, I’ve been walking waddling around, eating spicy foods, bouncing on the exercise ball and basically doing everything those old wives tell you to do to get labor going. I know, I know, he’ll come out when he’s ready. They always come out. And now that he’s not causing me to scream in pain and curse my left leg, it’s really OK if he stays in there a little while longer. Don’t get me wrong, we’re ready for him. SO ready to meet him. But if he’s not ready, he’s not ready.

His room is done. The car seat is installed (and has been checked at the police station). There are eight billion newborn to 3-month outfits in his dresser. I’ve gone ahead and gained 33 pounds. The bag is packed. There is a waterproof crib pad under the sheets on my side of the bed just in case.

We. Are. Ready.

Some people have asked me if I’ll be live-blogging my labor and the answer is no. As a matter of fact, I won’t be social media-ing labor at all. No Facebook or Twitter until after he’s born and we’ve told all the people in our lives about his arrival that we’d want to find out from us directly. While I think it’s cool to reader OTHER people’s tweets about what’s going on, it’s just something I’d rather not share minute-by-minute. Instead, I promise you a very thorough, very honest, birth story. I’ll also be supplementing some of my posting with guest posts by some of my favorite mommies in the week or so after he’s born.

I wanted to thank you all for your hospital bag recommendations. They were super helpful and I definitely used a lot of your ideas. I’d also like to thank you all for following me on the journey to baby. Your comments, love and support have been wonderful and I can’t wait to share the stories of This Little Baby with you all in the very near future.

Now, if you will, please think lots of Baby Coming Out thoughts over the next few days for us. That would be great.

They’re here! I’ve had so much fun looking through them and though it’s hard to pick favorites, I narrowed it down to oh, 55 or so. Haha! I won’t swarm you with all of them, but I thought you might like to see some of the best of the best.

Michael was a really good sport (he doesn’t like having his picture taken), but I’m glad he was because we got some really nice ones of the two of us that I will always cherish. I’m a big fan of celebrating pregnancy and the pregnant body, and am proud to have these as a memory of a really wonderful nine months.

Today I am 38 weeks pregnant and my doctor’s appointment this afternoon is going to go something like, “Get him out, get him out, GET HIM OUT!” (Yes, I’m anxious to meet him, but it’s really about getting him off my nerve and away from my hip so I don’t have to do the Old Lady Shuffle anymore.)

I was super excited, yet totally jealous to hear the woman in my yoga class with the same due date as me delivered her son yesterday. Of course, it was her fourth child so they tend to go a little faster, but STILL.

In an effort to make today a little more fun, I invite you to guess This Little Baby’s due date, as well as his birth weight. The person who comes closest to both will win…a major blog shout out! (Wow. The incentive is so great, I know.)

The “official” date is June 30/July 1. Those of you who guess anything past July 4th may suffer my wrath. I’m just saying.

I woke up yesterday feeling pretty darn sorry for myself. At 3:30 in the morning I was in horrible pain from my stupid hip (some Googling plus advice from my cousin who is married to a doctor leads us to believe I’m not experiencing sciatica after all, more likely that my Sacroiliac joint is out of whack. Ow.)

Bed is the most uncomfortable place to be right now, so I just decided to get up and do some yoga stretches in my hallway for a while. The stretches feel great while I’m doing them, but really don’t keep the pain away at all. By 5 a.m. I was feeling emotional and tired and finally decided that it was time to bite the bullet and take some Tylenol.

Tylenol is supposed to be the one pain medicine that is safe to take during pregnancy, as they say it doesn’t cross the placenta. Even still, I had been reluctant to take any medicine during my pregnancy, and started to feel like a failure that I made it this far and was finally breaking down. Add that to no sleep, crazy hormones and no rational, and you get one teary-eyed, red-nosed waddling woman making her way slooooowly down the aisles at the 24-hour CVS at 5:27 a.m. in search of relief.

I found what I needed and headed to the counter, only to find the cashier that is alway, ALWAYS, in a bad mood and super rude. I prepared for a terse exchange, when he totally surprised me.

“When is your baby due?” he asked, smiling. I told him just about two and a half weeks and he literally clapped his hands and wished me luck. He then looked at my purchases (Tylenol, hot water bottle) and asked if I was feeling OK.

And here’s where I felt like an ass. Because I’m going on and on complaining about having leg and hip pain, and here’s this guy — a guy who needs to use crutches and sit in a special chair his entire life because of what I can only assume is a very painful and debilitating disease — happy as a clam and offering me sympathy as I quietly admit that I’m buying things to relieve my leg pain. From having a baby. A baby I’m so fortunate to be carrying. So, yeah. Universe reality check, take one.

I thanked him and started to leave, feeling a little ashamed, and when I stepped out the door and began waddling to the car…the sky opened up and rained on me. Hard. And just as a finally climbed into the car and shut the door…

…the rain completely stopped.

A two-minute downpour just for me.

I get it, Universe. You win. Lesson learned.

I’ll admit it. I came home and cried into Michael’s chest as I relayed the story and took the stupid Tylenol. Then I curled up on the couch with the hot water bottle against my lower back and fell asleep for a blessed two hours. When I awoke, the pain was manageable — not gone, but better — and I was able to do some things around the house that had gone to the wayside.

In a short matter of time (days? weeks?), I’m going to give birth. I’m going to have a son. The memory of this pain will be far away and I will have much more important things to think about than woe is me.